I was taking a bag of rubbish from the kitchen to the bins at the rear of my house in Highfield, Southampton when I saw what appeared to be someone crouching in the shrubs next to the path. There was a stretch of grass bordered by trees and undergrowth on both sides between my house and the one next to me with concrete walkways on both sides. The shrubs and trees were dense enough that it was difficult to see through them from either side. As I was headed to the house, I caught sight of someone squatted near the trees on my side.
I dropped the kitchen waste in the bin at the alley and began walking toward the person I saw. As I approached, the grass softening my footsteps, I saw a girl, maybe a teen, but probably younger, legs spread wide, squatted down with her back toward me. She was squatted so low that her butt was nearly touching the ground. Her face was shrouded by a peculiar dark scarf over her head. With her legs spread as they were and even in the subdued light, I was easily able to see between her legs and make out her gaping fanny. I saw the last few squirts of amber urine being expelled from her bladder.
It irritated me more than lightly to know some chick was pissing where I have to mow every week. When she lingered a few seconds, I almost expected next act to be a brown log being extruded from her arse, but it didn’t come to pass. Ultimately, she waggled her butt, slightly, rose, and stepped back away from the ground, wet from her piss. Before she could pull her panties and trousers up, I stepped forward and announced my presence asking, “What do you think you’re doing here?”
At first she didn’t answer, but after some seconds, replied, “I had to go really bad and I couldn’t make it home, so I did it in the bushes here.”
I looked her over rather closely and realized that, here, standing before me, her panties and trousers still just above her knees, six inches of her thighs bare, was a very beautiful, young black girl about twelve or thirteen years old. “Where do you live?” I asked.
“Next to Boots at the corner of Derby Road,” she responded, but we’re moving to Totton in two days,” she explained.”I’ve been visiting a friends and missed my bus.”
I knew where Boots was. I sometimes need stuff or medication. I often looked on it as an excuse to ogle the black and Asian community wenches common on the area. This girl was definitely from the latter. The scarf was a dark patterned hijab.
“Why are you moving?”
“My mummy wants to move out of here because of my uncle.”
“What about your uncle?” I asked.
“He put me in mummy’s belly fourteen years ago, and now he’s trying to put a baby in me too.”
“How long has he been trying?” I asked her.
“About four years when he came to live with us, but I just became a woman though, you know,” she looked at me sheepishly. “So mummy says it’s too dangerous to have him around me anymore.”
“First, pull your clothes up so you’re decent, then come with me young lady. We need to talk and maybe even call your mum and have her come over so I can talk to her too.”
With the mention of her mum, I saw a prompt reaction and worried expression on her face. I didn’t say anything right then, but I stored the information away for future use. I put a hand lightly on her shoulder and felt her shy away a little, then guided her out of the alley between houses, and up to the house. Changing my mind I pulled out my key and unlocked the door of my garage. I pushed the door open and told her to go inside and take a seat on a garden chair. This she hesitantly did noticing it was very much a storage area now as the car was too big and stayed on the drive. Once inside, I closed and locked the door and pulled another plastic stack chair over so I could sit facing her. Now that the shock of seeing her pissing and my initial irritation at her actions had passed a bit, I was able to think and see life for what it was and the opportunity I had.
When I looked at her closely, I saw a very beautiful black girl with a smooth complexion, not too much of the usual big nose you see on the Paki or Bangla females, long black hair swept under the silk covering over her head, very dark eyes with very fine features. Her loose maroon, gold rimmed top was pulled loosely over a dark purple patterned shirt. I watched her fidgeting with the bottom of her shirt for a few seconds. I was trying to snatch a better glimpse of her developing form and visualize what was underneath her shirt.
“How old are you?” I asked her.
“Fourteen,” she answered.
“What’s your name?”
“Myam,” she informed me.
“Well Myam, do you know why I brought you in here?” I asked her.
“I don’t know mister,” she responded. After a few seconds she added, “Because I wee weed on your grass?” she asked somewhat confused.
“Well sort of, but mostly because after you wee wee’d, you didn’t wipe yourself,” I told her.
“I know, but when I’m out, I sometimes forget to take tissues”.
“You know, if you don’t wipe after your urinate, you can get a bad infection between your legs that could stay with you the rest of your life?”
“I know, mummy tells me that too, but sometimes I just can’t wait.”
“I have some big tissues up there,” nodding to a shelf. “So that you can wipe. That might help you,” I said to her. “Do you want me to?”
“Okay mister, I guess it might help me.”
I stepped over to the shelf and reached up for the industrial tissues. I grabbed five or six sheets of tissue off the roll and went back to where the girl was seated.
“Here you go,” I said to her as I reached out with my right hand to give her the tissue.”
She took it and then seemed to fumble a little. I imagined it was because I was standing there, not more than a metre from her. Finally, I asked, “Are you going to use it?”
“I feel funny with you standing here watching me,” she said.
“Well, I already saw you when you were weeing in my yard, what’s the difference?” I asked.
“Maybe you’re right,” she embarrassingly admitted.
“I’ll tell you want, “I offered, “If you give me the tissue, then pull your trousers and panties down, you can lay back on this bench and I’ll wipe it for you.”
“But you’ll see my coochie, she countered.” I thought what a typically cute black name.
“I already have, remember? So what’s the difference?
“I guess mister. Just do it gently please,” she pleaded.
I took the tissue from her and watched as she stood up and pulled her pants and panties down below her knees. “Do you want me just to take them this far, mister, or do you want me to take them all the way off?”
Holy shit, I thought to myself, she’s offering to completely expose herself to my view. With that offer, I was all for doing as much as I could get her to do. I even wondered if she would accept some extra play after I wiped her. “Why don’t you take them all the way off. It’ll let you spread your legs wider and make it easier for me to wipe you,” I suggested.
She thought hard about my suggestion, eyeing me up as if can I trust him. She was very aware of danger I thought but at this point seemed resigned. She quickly stepped out of both her panties and flowing long baggy trousers and sat back down straddling the bench. I watched as she lay back, pulled her knees up, nearly to her chest, and spread them very wide. This was one very inviting pussy. Very hairy, black glossy fronds spread enticingly over the dark simple slit. I stooped a little following the river of black hairs through her crack, round her bum hole which was difficult to see amongst the growth. It was now obvious to me that she knew what to do. Someone had conditioned her to this sort of thing previously. Rather then risk spooking her at this point; I lightly blotted at her pussy with the tissue. “How was that?” I asked her.
“Okay,” came her response.
I folded the side of the tissue I had just used and blotted it once again. I couldn’t resist. So close and intimate with a young Muslim, but maybe Western radicalised girl. This time she seemed a bit more at ease with being half naked and spread wide in my presence. With her current position, her lips were parted every so slightly revealing the pinky peach inside part of her slit. It matched the skin tones of her palms. I decided to press a little and asked, “Do you mind if I spread your coochie a little to wipe you a better?”
When she responded, “Er ... yes okay,” I used my the index and little fingers of my left hand to press lightly on her lips and spread her vagina wide. It allowed me to peer inside a short distance, giving me the opportunity to view her hymen. There was still a vestige ringing her entrance, but it was ragged and frayed. I surmised that sometime in the past had already probed and violated her, snatching her cherry, maybe even before she became a teen. Such a shame, I would have given a million to have been the one.
“Myam, did it hurt when I did that?”
“No, mister,” she replied.
Sensing some willingness on her part, I decided to venture a little further and pressed the tip of my index finger, still tissue covered, to her vaginal entrance. There, I wiggled it ever so softly inside, just short of the remnants of her cherry.
“How did that feel?” I asked her.
“It felt okay,” she responded.
“Did you like what I did?”
“It sort of felt good, but you didn’t do it long,” she added.
.... There is more of this story ...